


A Marriage of Inconvenience

by wayvbabey



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Sexism, Strangers to Lovers, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29428350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wayvbabey/pseuds/wayvbabey
Summary: You had thought love was easy: find a man you like and who likes you, marry him, then spend the rest of your lives together. Except it never really is that easy, not when things go wrong.
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Reader, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	A Marriage of Inconvenience

-

You suppose the thing you will miss most about London is the fact the city never sleeps.

For London is like the stars, available only when certain conditions are met. All your life, you have dreamed about the moment you’ll be able to step foot into the city and _stay there_ , if only for a few months. 

But that time has come and gone like a beautiful dream. 

The candles that decorate the ballroom which have thrice been relighted by a steward serve as a reminder to you just how long you have been here for. With every flicker of the flame, the night crawls slowly onward and within a few hours carriages will begin to depart, concluding the penultimate ball of the social season.

* * *

Above you, the crystal chandelier dominates the ceiling like an immortal sun, bathing all inhabitants in its warm glow. It shines particularly favourably on those on the ballroom floor, swaying in time to the violin quartet tucked away in the corner, where you and a few close friends are hidden away.

"My word," Francesca Downton, a friend and companion for the night, touches her ear and sends a scowl over to the musicians, "do you think they realise how loud they are?"

Next to her, you lift your champagne glass, letting the liquid fizzle on your tongue for a moment before swallowing and giving your reply.

"They’re only doing their job, Francesca."

"Well, my commendations to them," she murmurs, “but if we stay here I’m going to need more champagne. Perhaps a change of scenery, as well."

"Fair enough," you agree easily, because in truth, the violins are playing on your nerves too, every note chewing away at your thinning patience. "Sara?"

You turn to face your closest friend, who’s too busy watching the musicians to notice you’re speaking to her. “Sara, would you like to walk with us?”

She finally hears you and smiles, the peach blush she wears rising with the apples of her cheeks.

"Thank you for the offer, Y/N, but I think I'll remain here for a while. If I don't see you both before the end of the season, then I wish you both safe travels."

"As do we," Francesca smiles at her before taking your arm and leading you away.

Her domineering nature is not new to you, but as you turn back to share a knowing smile with Sara you find she has already looked away and instead watches the dancers, a speculative gaze in her eyes.

"What a pity," Francesca whispers in your ear. "That Sara still hasn’t found a match yet. I take it she's had offers?"

"A few," you deliberately keep your voice even. As much as you like Francesca, she’s a terrible gossip. "She is just looking for the right man. Perhaps he has not come along yet."

"Indeed." Francesca concludes the discussion, satisfied with your answer.

For the two of you it is easy to breeze through the crowds, littered with men whose eyes follow the confidence you exclude. At the start of the season you had been a mere outsider, a countrygirl, unsure of how to respond to anyone’s advances. Now, you blend perfectly into the crowd, another cog in London's elegant wheel of high society. A bird who has left the nest.

Well, in all ways but one.

Francesca plucks another champagne glass off of a passing tray and then leans down slightly until her lips are near your ear.

"He is looking at you again." She whispers. At her words, an involuntary smile appears on your face, skin warming as you become aware of the situation.

"Is he?" You hum nonchalantly, trying to keep the delight out of your tone.

"He is." It's clear Francesca is not falling for your composed facade, as she gives you a nudge. "Aren’t you going to go over and talk with him?"

"Of course not!" You look up in horror at her absurd question. However, as her lips twitch, the two of you burst into giggles half-fuelled by the champagne.

"I couldn't be so forward." You add on once the laughter subsides.

Francesca tilts her head and briefly looks over your shoulder. It takes everything within you not to follow her gaze now you know who it is she's looking at.

"Would that be so bad?” She questions. “Why shouldn't you act on your desires? It's what you have wanted for so long, after all. And it isn’t like your feelings aren’t reciprocated. _Everyone_ knows they are."

"Hush," you chastise. "A lady should never be so forward in her endeavours. Besides, Mr Jung and I have been courting all season. It is only a matter of waiting a _little_ longer and then we can be together all we like. I suppose he is..." You hesitate. "Nervous."

Francesca giggles again, cutting herself off with another sip from her flute.

"Mmh, _nervous_." She agrees after swallowing. "Jung Yoonoh, finest of this season, nervous."

"Francesca!" You whine. "These things take time, which is something I am prepared to give if it means Mr Jung and I will wed by the end of the season. I am more than happy to wait, you know."

"And he," her mocking tone returns, "is coming closer. Your third dance awaits, friend."

Before you can chastise her again, she disappears into the crowd just as you sense the presence of another.

You know that a lady should never express her desires so overtly, but from the moment you laid eyes on Jung Yoonoh from across the room at the very first ball of the season, not a day after your presentation at court, you knew he was to be yours. That feeling has never changed since then.

"Miss L/N." Yoonoh smiles as a greeting, the action sculpting his features into something so enticing that your heart throbs painfully in your chest.

If he knows the effect he has on you, he doesn’t mention it, dipping into a bow which you return with a brief curtsey.

"I just wanted to inform you that I have had a lovely evening with you tonight, but will soon be retiring from the party." He continues.

You try not to let your disappointment show too much, although you can believe it’s practically written all over your face. You’ve never been subtle, but then again, you blame this all on Francesca. She has toyed with you too much tonight.

"Of course."

"However," he smiles wider, soothing over your dismay in an instant. "I was wondering if you would do me the honour of promenading with me again tomorrow, like we did last week?"

"Of course," you are not pleased with how quickly you agree but Yoonoh doesn't seem to care as he beams down at you. "I would be delighted!"

"I'm glad," he bows again, keeping his eyes on you. "Until tomorrow, then."

"Until tomorrow," you echo, watching him go with fond eyes.

-

True to his word, the next afternoon Yoonoh comes knocking and, with your mother as a chaperone, the two of you head outside.

While London cannot compare with the lush, rolling hills of the English countryside you’d grown up surrounded by, it’s not hard to admit that the landscape here is beautiful in its own right. Every tree is shaped to perfection, no blade of grass an inch higher than the other and no gravel path out of place. It feels like a handcrafted paradise.

"Are you ready for tomorrow's ball, Miss L/N?" Yoonoh questions, glancing down at you from where you are clutching at his elbow. Your pace has slowed to a leisurely stroll, allowing you to admire your surroundings once again as you mull over his question.

"I think so," you reply. "It is a shame it’s the last one."

"It is." He agrees thoughtfully. "Though I suspect you’ll be all too happy to escape all these dense houses. I much prefer the countryside."

"As do I!" You smile up at him and he returns the gesture, brows softening as you allow yourself to get caught up in his warmness in his eyes.

It’s all too easy with Yoonoh. He leans closer and a swarm of butterflies unfurl in your stomach, gaze dropping to his lips. But then he reaches out a hand and smoothes out some hair caught by your ear, his own ears reddening as he slowly pulls away.

"Sorry," he apologises, "I couldn't help myself."

"It's fine!" You assure him as you look away quickly, only to drawn back by the sound of his boyish laugh, which has the faintest of smiles tugging at your lips again.

One of the many things you love about Yoonoh is that he is able to make you smile by doing the simplest of things. You had realised this early on, a thought which led to the natural conclusion that, if Yoonoh made you happy, then he was to be the man you would be happiest with for the rest of your life.

There were other things, of course. Such as how the hours shortened to minutes when you were talking to him. Or how the river of words the two of you shared never seemed to shrivel up. It helped, of course, that Yoonoh was easy on the eyes, a face so beautiful it would break one's heart just to look away. But what was paramount to you was the fact that, despite all other ladies, Yoonoh had chosen _you_. When you were younger, your extended family would visit often and each time they did your older cousin would fill your head with stories of unfortunate matches. Some were coordinated due to social class, some money, but in each case it was evident the couples held no love for each other.

To you, this was a fate almost worse than death, which is why as Yoonoh's hand trickles down your arm and his fingertips ghost against yours, you take his hand, tilting your head back to bathe in the sun as the two of you walk together, side by side.

Your affections are reciprocated with Yoonoh and that is all you could ever ask for.

-

And so, the last ball of the season begins.

The hosts have spared no expense. Alongside a lavish band, an opera singer commands the dance floor with the highs and lows of her soprano. Attached to Yoonoh's arm, you get a good, long look at the beautiful grand piano and the player who brings the keys to life. It brings a wistful sigh to your lips; the social season is a busy time and you certainly haven't been able to play your scales as much as you’d have liked to.

Eight pillars mark the four entrances to the room, bundles of exotic flowers attached around them to bring a spike of colour to the room. Some are soft baby pinks, like Francesca's dress, while others are strong sunshine yellows, the same as Amara Patel's gown as she is twirled around on the dance floor by her soon-to-be husband.

"This is beautiful," Yoonoh marvels in your ear, accompanied by a feather-light touch to the small of your back.

You couldn’t agree more.

Sara catches your eye from where she stands next to the banquet table in a beautiful violet dress. Beside her is a gentleman who holds her in conversation and, judging by the smile on your friend’s face, it’s going well.

You pat Yoonoh’s arm to grab his attention. "Shall we go over and see her?"

"Good idea," he catches onto where you’re looking and agrees easily, leading you over.

Despite Sara's usual self-contained demeanour it’s clear she’s enjoying the young man’s company, if her blush is anything to go by. The sight brings a smile to your face.

"Good evening," you greet both of them eagerly, sinking into a formal curtsey before directing your smile to the unnamed man. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting?"

"We have not," he agrees. "My name is Antonio Sanchez, just arrived in London. Still," he glances to Sara, "I am in good company."

"You flatter me," Sara responds with an almost-laugh before grinning at you. "Mr Sanchez, this is my friend Miss L/N and her suitor Mr Jung. We were just talking about your travels abroad, if I’m not mistaken."

Mr Sanchez laughs. "Lovely to meet you both, and they’re hardly anything to admire." He shakes his head. "I’m sure it was quite boring to listen to."

“Not at all.“ Sara protests.

"Perhaps a dance would do us all some good?" Yoonoh offers. You watch as Mr Sanchez pauses, glancing over to your friend.

"I’ll agree only if Miss Kobayashi is happy to have me as her partner."

"I’d be honoured," she nods, taking his outstretched hand. "Let us dance."

They lead the way as you all take up your positions. It’s hard to look away from the new couple even as you and Yoonoh join hands.

"An interesting pair," he muses as you begin the quickstep. "What do you think?"

"If she likes him, then I'm happy for her." You admit. “You?”

“They’re a good match.“

Your happiness expands tenfold when Sara agrees to have another dance with her new suitor. It’s known that the more dances a couple partakes in, in the more it shows their affections for one another. By now there are a few impressed eyes on the dancing couple, a sight that makes your heart swell with pride for your friend.

Given that you are already set up with Yoonoh, there is no need to rush about trying to find anyone else to dance with, meaning you are free to socialise all evening. It's mostly spent on Yoonoh's arm- apart from when he had to go to the bathroom -and you wouldn't have it any other way.

He invades your dreams that night too, this time in formal black and white attire. When you look down, you are in white with a veil over your face and, as that veil is lifted up, you see your family sitting in the pews with your mother dabbing a few stray tears from your eyes.

The dream is so beautiful you almost cry upon waking. In fact, the only thing that comforts you is the knowledge that your dreams will soon come true. All Yoonoh has to do is propose.

Your father had been wary and rightly so. Yours and Yoonoh's courting period was unusually long, but as you and your mother had convinced him, prolonging a courtship with no intention to marry was highly dishonourable and entirely unlike your beloved.

Which is why, when your mother flounces into your room a few minutes later, maids in tow and tears in her eyes, you stupidly wonder if perhaps your dream was real.

"Y/N!" She cries, dropping onto your bed in an undignified heap.

"What, mother?" You mumble, still rubbing sleep from your eyes.

"It's Yoonoh." She wails, the sound of his name pulling you into reality with a harsh tug. "He’s going to be marrying Sara Kobayashi! Their engagement has just been announced!"

Just like that, your world is launched sideways, and the only regret you have is waking up.

-

Over the next few days, it becomes clear that whatever you and Yoonoh had is gone.

He doesn't come calling, not even once. Instead, you are confined to your room, spending most of your time curled up in bed with red eyes and a tender, bleeding heart.

When morning comes and you hear the world awaken both inside and outside your home, the shame the feel hangs over you like a blanket, too heavy to remove or ignore. It's worse when the house is quiet, though, because you are left to your innermost thoughts.

Try as you might, you can't think of one single reason why this could happen. Had Yoonoh not been happy? Had you done something wrong? Most important of all: Why would Sara betray you like this?

If there is anything worse than heartbreak it would be the sting of betrayal from someone you thought you trusted. For you, it’s a different type of heartbreak altogether. If Yoonoh had held his heart in his hand and then ripped it out of your chest, then Sara had stuck a knife in it and with each twist of the knife, your pain and grief grew.

Nothing comes to mind when you consider her reasons for doing this, leaving you to wallow in self-pity and embarrassment, even more so when your mother enters your room one evening.

She's delivering your meal herself, probably a refreshing change from the long, in-depth arguments she has with your father each night. Their shouting transcends all three floor and as much as _you_ are humiliated, you can’t imagine how much worse it must be for your parents who have to face society each day and pretend nothing is amiss.

Something you had learned upon arriving in London is that people love to talk, even when they know they shouldn’t.

"I thought you were both in love?" Your mother presses, handing over your bowl. Her words are soft and tender, not willing to poke too hard at your already bruised heart.

You shrug helplessly, willing the tears away. "So did I."

Much unlike the start of the season, the end passes with you nowhere to be found. It is only on the seventh day of your confinement that you are summoned downstairs by a maid, who casts you nervous glances along the way, almost as if any air outside your room will cause you to shatter.

Today you should have been returning to the countryside to your family home with your parents, planning a wedding. Instead, you face them in the drawing room, hands folded and head bowed.

"We don't want you to worry," your father begins, face knitted together. "We _will_ find you another match."

The revelation surprises you, neither in a good nor bad way. Of course, you knew getting married was a familial duty but you hadn't thought about it much after meeting Yoonoh. To you, it had always been him or nothing.

"I don't want to marry a stranger," you admit quietly, the news still washing over you, not quite having been absorbed yet.

The idea of a loveless marriage is worse than finding out you won't be marrying Yoonoh, worse than spending seven days mourning your lost love. A loveless marriage will be a burden you bear for the rest of your days. It is a fear you've carried since childhood, and Yoonoh was your shield.

"Oh, Y/N." Your mother takes a seat next to you, smoothing the collar of your dress. "I'm afraid we don't have much of a choice, darling."

Not _we,_ but _you._ She’s only saying that to make you feel better and it is so painfully obvious.

In this world, you are allowed to choose so little. Now, your final choice- the only one that mattered -is gone.

-

They call him Kim Doyoung.

You have never heard that name in your life.

"He's a writer," you gaze out the window, desperately trying to tune out your mother’s voice because the hope in it makes you sick. "A little bit older than you but by no more than half a decade. From what your father has described, he's quite beautiful. He knows of him from some club they both used to attend. They're on good terms."

The information is mulled over, then discarded.

"And what of his temperament?" You reply hoarsely. Below, London carries on as usual. It doesn't miss you in the slightest. “Is he _nice_?”

"Well," your mother's voice wavers, "he's a writer, my dear. Spends most of his time in London. Very in-demand, very well-off. He doesn't attend many social events but I'm sure after you get married, that will change."

_After_. Not _if_.

"He hasn't had any interest in taking a wife before, but it seems his mind has changed! We can count this as a blessing, darling."

"I don't want to." Your eyes burn but you won't wipe away the tears, not when you know your mother is giving you such a pitiful look. It’s better to pretend they don’t exist.

She doesn't fight your words and you hear her sigh, gathering her skirts and heading towards the door.

"We meet him tomorrow." Are her parting words.

A carriage outside draws up and a young couple steps out. Opposite, a boy hands out newspapers to passers-by. Life continues on, without a second glance at you.

If London is to be your prison, then this ‘Kim Doyoung’ will be your jailer.

-

Your last hope fails you. Doyoung agrees to the dinner and at six in the evening sharp, there are three sharp raps on the front door.

The last time you had been to Church was at around sixteen, but for all of last night you had prayed, begged for your suitor to change his mind. If you could believe your mother, that he hadn't wanted a wife before, then perhaps he would change his mind last minute.

Obviously, he hadn’t.

Your parents rise from their seats to greet him, shooting a look your way to do the same. The underlying message is clear: _behave._

You rise, miserable in your pretty gown and elaborate hairstyle, jewellery clutching at your neck and pinned into your ears. After all, what use is all your finery when it is obvious you are unwanted?

"Mr Kim, your graces." The footman announces just as the doors open.

A tall man enters, shedding his coat and passing it to one of the staff. Your parents walk forward to greet him while staring down at the plates, only catching a head of black hair and narrow, pale face before you look away.

"Your graces," you hear him echo, then there's a brief silence, which you can only attribute to both parties bowing. “Thank you for having me.”

"Lord Kim," your father is exceptionally good at keeping any negative emotions out of his voice. "Thank you so much for joining us. Please, this is my daughter, Miss Y/N L/N."

You're being summoned, with no choice but to show your face. Reluctantly you turn, dragging your eyes across the paintings on the wall, then past your parents until you meet his dark and unfamiliar stare.

"Good evening," you curtsey, "nice to meet you."

"Likewise, my lady." He bows, before shifting his gaze to your father, adopting a more expectant tone. With his attention captured elsewhere, you allow yourself to breathe a sigh of relief. At the very least, Kim Doyoung does not seem like a lecherous man.

A long time ago, you had been with some friends and one in particular was accompanied by their elder cousin, a young man who paid no heed to any of your childish games, instead choosing to bury his head in a book.

"He's a writer." Your friend had brushed off your request to get him to join in. "Their one true love is writing, you know."

You suppose she had been right. Doyoung is polite as you all take your seats, but he is far from attentive. As the first dishes are served and drinks are filled, he becomes the recipient of your parents questioning.

"So, Doyoung," your mother coughs, smiling. "You're a writer?"

Since he's sitting next to you it's impossible to see his response without turning to look at him so you can only imagine the polite smile he’s putting on.

"I am." He replies, a slight lilt to his tone. "I'm hoping to publish my fifth novel by the end of this year."

"Oh." Your mother does little to hide the look of surprise on her face. You can't blame her; it's rare to find someone so successful who has dedicated themselves to the arts. "That's wonderful."

He makes a hum of acknowledgement and out of the corner of your eye, you see him look down. Briefly, you wonder if he is truly as awkward at conversation as he is acting interested.

"Y/N likes to read." Your father carries on the conversation. "She's done all the classics."

"I prefer the piano, though." You can't help but butt in, meeting your father's steely gaze with a pointed chin.

"She plays exquisitely!" Your mother hurries to soothe things over. "She has a very bright mind."

In any other circumstance, you probably would have been okay with your parents broadcasting your accomplishments so shamelessly. Here though, in this situation, it does nothing but makes you sink further into your chair.

"I haven't heard anyone play the piano since my mother died." Doyoung tells her. "So I'm sure Miss L/N's playing will be lovely. That is-" he adds hastily "-if we do get married."

You say nothing this time, leaving your parents to (inevitably) express their condolences to the news of his mother’s passing. Doyoung brushes it off, however, and the conversation resumes without another hitch. Somewhere between the palette cleansers and dessert, when your parents are caught up in telling a story amongst themselves, you catch movement in the corner of your eye. Finally turning your head, you see Doyoung pull out a small, leather-bound notebook from his pocket, alongside a pen which he uses to scribble something down.

You don't know why the sight irritates you but it _does_. So, despite your reluctance to have anything to do with him, you lean over, lowering your voice to a whisper.

"It's awfully rude to do such a thing like that when your hosts are just opposite you."

He starts, flipping the book shut and pocketing it, before regarding you out of the corner of his eyes with a look of slight guilt.

"I was just writing down a quick idea," he replies, voice low. "My apologies if I offended you."

Maybe you would have preferred it if he had argued, because then at least it would show you he has some sort of personality. You can just imagine it now: a life with an absent, pre-occupied husband to keep you company.

_A life of misery_. The thought adds extra bite to your tone.

"I doubt you are concerned with whether or not you offend me."

His face creases as he frowns. Up close, you see he doesn't have even one blemish, something that infuriates you even more. He is like stone: cold, unfeeling and boring.

"What does that mean?"

"Forget it." You sigh out, facing the front again and listening in on your parent's conversation. “Forget I said anything.”

If Doyoung wishes to pursue the subject, he doesn't try. The two of you remain silent for most of the dinner, not speaking unless spoken to and it gives you some sort of sickening satisfaction whenever his hands twitch towards his pocket, almost like a reflex, before he catches himself and stops.

The end of the evening can’t come quick enough. While the goodbyes are exchanged you slink out of the room, something you think your father only allows in order to prevent you from showing him up again.

But before you can head upstairs, the voices near the door lower just enough to intrigue you.

"So, you'll take her as your wife, then? She may seem a little unladylike at the moment but I assure you, she is just nervous." The voice of your father floats down the hall.

"I'd be honoured to," Doyoung says the words you dread to hear and just like that, your heart drops to your stomach, squishing all the food you've just eaten and bringing bile to your throat. "But only if you're happy to have me as your son-in-law?"

Your mother laughs happily. "We would be happy to!"

"Then it's settled." Your father jumps in before Doyoung can change his mind. "If you would do us the honour of promenading with Y/N tomorrow, then after we can discuss the dowry and wedding, and perhaps even file for a license."

What Doyoung says next you can't hear, though it must be something good because the door shuts soon after and the voices fade out.

You don't wait for your parents to reveal to you the 'good' news. Instead, you stalk upstairs, calling for a maid to draw you a bath. 

The decision has been made. Kim Doyoung will be your husband.

Your future has been sealed.

-

When your mother comes to get you the next morning, her jaw hits the floor.

" _Y/N L/N_!" She scolds. "You need to get up. Mr Kim will be here in an hour! What happened to the maids I sent?"

You roll over to face her in bed. "I sent them all away."

"Oh _Y/N_ ," disappointment drips from your mother's tone as she strides to your wardrobe and starts going through it. "I know you are upset, my love, but you must work with us here. We have secured you a match with a perfectly fine gentleman in such a small amount of time."

"I can't love him, mother." You announce, sitting up. The blood rushes to your head, blurring your vision for a moment before you focus again and plough on. "He seems so boring and cold! If I marry him my life is going to waste away in this city, mother, I just know it. I'll never visit the country again."

"Don't be silly, dear." She replies, still browsing. "Mr Kim has a country house somewhere in Norfolk, which you would know if you paid attention at dinner. Now come on," she picks out a dress and snaps her fingers at the housemaids, who hover at the door. "You're promenading today. It’s about time we showed those gossiping ladies of your new status."

"Do I have to?" You sigh out. "Can I not just mourn and cry in peace."

"Y/N! Contrary to your belief," your mother turns, handing the dress off and taking your hands in hers. "The world is not ending. You will survive this-" she tugs and pulls you up "-only if you make the best out of your situation. Happiness will not just come to you if you do not search for it. Now," she pushes you into the direction of the bathroom. "Get ready."

Her words stay with you as you get ready, squeezing into your corset and then a beautiful summer dress, pale pink with lace trimmings. Your hair is done in braids, wound up so your neck is exposed, and then placed around it is a pearl necklace to match your earrings.

"If you cannot bring yourself to be happy over your bright future," your mother appraises you, apparently satisfied, "then at the very least, please show Mr Jung what he will be missing. I won’t have our name soiled again."

Her words- or perhaps the expensive pearls -strike a new purpose into you. A well-fitting dress cannot smother all your troubles, but as you and Doyoung step out, greeted by the light of the sun, you realise that you cannot waste your life away in pity.

Because the two of you are engaged now, there is no need for a chaperone. Still, you wish there was one, given that Doyoung is not much of a talker and you, unlike your parents, can't always find the right words to say.

You walk the same route you and Yoonoh did before, nostalgia building up slowly until the pressure becomes too much to bear. In an effort to alleviate it, you strike up a conversation.

"My mother tells me you have a house in the country?"

Doyoung nods, gazing out over the river. "Yes, I grew up there. It doesn't get used much now, since my publisher is in London, but it’s still there."

"Ah," you nod your head while your heart sinks. "I'm sure it's lovely there, anyway. So, you plan to stay in London?"

"Yes." He casts a glance at you, one you can't meet. "I need to work and I thought it would be better if you had your family close by."

It was either loneliness or being smothered by your family, then, not that you wouldn't be grateful for their support. However, a sudden thought strikes you.

"We don't live in London, Mr Kim. My family and I are only here for the social season."

"Oh." Doyoung seems lost for words, something ironic for a writer. He's frowning again and you crane your head slightly to see his lips pulled downwards as he reflects on his mistake. "I'm sorry, I should've thought that out better."

"No need to apologise," you sigh, gazing wistfully at the other side of the river. "I'll just write to them-"

Your feet stop moving and your throat tightens, halting any words that were about to come out. Doyoung notices, peering down at you apprehensively, before following the direction you are looking in.

Across the water, a young couple makes their way down the path. The woman is tucked under the man's arm, flashing a beaming smile up at him. Though you can't see his face, you can only imagine the smile he gives her in return. The image causes your heart to flutter, before stumbling painfully and becoming quiet, too quiet. Stone cold.

If Doyoung realises who Yoonoh is, he doesn't say anything. Instead, he tightens his grip on your arm and leads you away. 

It's a mutual decision to cut the walk short. The damage is done and you find yourself unable to utter a single word for the day, as if the sight of them both after such an absence has rendered you frozen.

The only thing you can think of is that your mother is wrong. There is and will be nothing after Yoonoh.

-

The next fortnight is a flurry of wedding preparations. Cake-tasting, taking measurements and planning occupy your every waking thought.

You don't see Yoonoh again after the event at the park, nor Doyoung, but you suppose the latter is too busy discussing plans with your father.

For some reason, the two of you are granted a special wedding licence, enabling you to marry within the upcoming week. They’re usually only granted on special occasions so you can’t help but wonder if your family’s reputation has anything to do with it.

In some way, you are thankful for the accelerated process, because it means you don't have time to think everything through, to get lost in your emotions as you find yourself doing so often these days. It's always uncomfortable when the maids come in and find you with tears running down your cheeks. Sometimes you wonder if Doyoung has told everyone of what happened during the walk, because you're often treated as if you were a glass statue about to shatter.

Despite there being no connection between you and Doyoung, the one thing you both have in common is that you have no interest in planning the wedding.

With Yoonoh, you had imagined it to be a huge event taking place near your childhood home. You would probably get married in the church you frequented as a child, in front of family and friends, before spending the reception in the gardens. After that, the two of you would have embarked to the Jung Manor, your new home.

Now, it is up to your mother to arrange everything.

"And here," she beams at you, "is the dress!"

The two of you are in the living room with the modiste, who watches you two with a quiet assurance about her, confident you will like the dress.

And you do. It is so white it's blinding, with your favourite pearls embroidered around the bosom and down the sleeves. The sewing is just exquisite, creating a modest piece tailored to your every curve and when you reach out to feel the material, it is silky and cool beneath your touch, a blanket of wealth, maturity and gracefulness.

It brings tears to your eyes, ones your mother mistakes for happiness as she throws her arms around you in joy. The modiste takes the dress back with a satisfied smile on her face.

"It's beautiful." You choke out, overcome with emotion. 

If only it were a different occasion.

"I'm glad you like it," your mother cups your cheeks happily, tears of her own suddenly sprouting. "You'll look stunning in it."

-

The wedding takes place in London with a small church hosting the ceremony and a neighbouring hall accommodating the reception.

A close-knit group of family and friends are invited. Cousins from both sides of your family turn up and embrace you happily. Grandparents marvel at what a fine choice of man you have selected, and not a whisper of Jung Yoonoh or Sara Kobayashi leaves anyone's lips.

Interestingly, no-one attends on Doyoung’s side. The only information you have on him is that his parents are no longer with the living, courtesy of your mother, but it takes you by surprise when not even a single friend shows up.

The actual ceremony is a whirlwind of memory, reminding you very vaguely of a piano recital you'd performed at when you were young. The experience was so nerve-wracking you simply banished the recollection from memory. It’s no different here, the only exception being with this occasion there is simply nothing worth remembering.

But no matter how much you were dreading your wedding day, what comes after could only be much worse.

Settled in the carriage with Doyoung, wiping away the last tears- a reminder of your goodbyes to your parents, you head to the other side of London to the Kim House, your new home.

"Here we are," Doyoung helps you down the steps and you look up at the house, tucked away behind an iron fence. "We'll be staying here for the remainder of this year, at the very least."

The door unlocks, revealing a smiling lady with a weathered face. From experience, you know she can only be the housekeeper.

"Mr and Mrs Kim!" She curtseys before making way for you to come in. The new form of address is foreign to you and uncomfortable, like a false label. "I hope the journey was pleasant."

"It was, thank you." You reply, once it becomes obvious Doyoung doesn't intend to.

"That's good to hear. Now, I have a quick tour arranged to get you acquainted to the house," she continues on, smiling expectantly at you.

You glance over to Doyoung, catching the eye of the housekeeper.

"Ah, Mr Kim,” she turns to address him. “Your study has been tidied and is ready for you to continue work. We haven't touched much as per your request."

"Good." Doyoung replies, giving her a short nod before looking at you. "If you need anything just ask Mrs Lee here. She'll be able to help."

Then he disappears down the corridor without so much as a backwards glance. Turning back to Mrs Lee with a mixture of disbelief and surprise, you find she isn’t perturbed in the slightest.

"A tour then, Mrs Kim?" She repeats.

"O-of course."

She begins showing you around, fixating on even the minute details about your new home. It gives you time to reflect on what had happened at the front door and how easily and she had received the news that Doyoung would be heading straight back to his study. Obviously, it was a common occurrence.

"This is your room." After showing you around, she opens the door to a bedroom, the last unexplored room upstairs. At first glance, it's slightly smaller than the one you have back home. Or _did_ have. This is your home now.

It's relatively simple. A double bed, a dresser, a bedside table and a lamp. There's a closed door which you assume leads to the bathroom and then a wardrobe tucked away in the corner. The most promising feature is the windows, which are open to let the evening breeze in.

Upon padding over to inspect them you find they look out over the back of the Kim House, a quieter residential area with small gardens, merely for show. It's nothing like what you had in the country, but it's nicer than what you’d originally expected.

"What do you think?" Mrs Lee asks.

You hesitate for a moment, careful not to upset her but not wanting to lie. As your mother had told you multiple times, it was unwise to make an enemy out of the housekeeper.

"It's lovely. This place is certainly different."

"Ah, yes," she comes to join you by the window, albeit keeping a respectful distance. "I heard your old primary residence was in the countryside."

You don't question how she knows that. "It was."

"Well, London is definitely busier, as I'm sure you know, but I hope we can make this place to your liking. If anything needs changing, please don't hesitate to let me know."

A sudden thought overcomes you and you turn to face her. "Is this both mine and Mr Kim's room?"

"Oh," she pauses, "no, I'm afraid it isn't. You both have separate rooms, Mr Kim was quite clear on that."

"I see." You smile. "Would you be able to give me a minute? I'm quite exhausted from today's events."

"Of course." She straightens up. "I'll fetch some tea for you later."

Your smile thins at the edges although is maintained until Mrs Lee finally takes her leave. As soon as you hear the click of the door, you release a shaky breath whilst hurrying over to the bed.

It's hard not to collapse onto the sheets once you get there but somehow you manage. Still in your wedding dress, you try your best to sit up and fold your hands in your lap, taking some deep, shuddering breaths.

Mrs Lee's information shouldn't come as a revelation. In fact, you should be pleased you didn't have to share a bed with a stranger!

But that means every staff member of this household will know your marriage is a sham. How ever will you be able to face them all as the woman of the house?

You take another breath in, detangling a hand to wipe your eyes. There's no use crying about it now, not when you're already here.

-

As promised, you're brought a cup of tea an hour later. After that, you are summoned to dinner, the first proper meal at your new home since you arrived.

It couldn't be any more different compared to back at home. If you ever needed a hint that Doyoung was used to living alone, the refectory table is a huge giveaway. It takes up the length of the dining room with Doyoung seated at the far end. The only other chair is on the other side and you sit down in it reluctantly.

Just like your previous dinner with him, Doyoung doesn't speak. From what you can gather (with being such a distance away), he has that same notebook open in front of him. When he catches you looking he raises an eyebrow, issuing a silent challenge.

You won't rise to it, instead lifting your chalice and resuming your meal until Doyoung clears his throat.

"Have you settled in?" He asks, voice bouncing off the walls until it reaches you.

"Yes." You reply shortly, mostly out of politeness. "My room is lovely, thank you."

"Good." He looks back down. "If you need anything here, I'm sure Mrs Lee and the staff will be able to provide it. I spend most of my time in my study, but they will be available at any hour."

"Okay." You give a brief nod, mostly still processing his words. It seems what you'd previously thought is proving to be true. You and Doyoung will lead separate lives, forgotten to each other for most of the day. As your stomach turns, you chase away the feeling with another sip of wine.

That night no matter how much you try, you just can't get comfy in your new bed. It reminds you of when you were younger and struggled to sleep, so much so the governess would officially give up and your mother would have to take over. Though you'd get scolded the next morning, she'd always let you cling onto her and fall asleep cradled in her arms.

You release a shuddering sigh, the wave of nostalgia causing tears to prick at your eyes for what feels like the hundredth time today. It had never occurred to you that you would miss your parents, but then again, it had never occurred to you that you would ever be in a situation as unlucky as this.

-

The next day brings a fresh, brand new start. A host of maids accompany you as you make your way down the corridor, scrutinising the interiors of each room with more intensity than yesterday.

It's clear most of Doyoung's other rooms are unused. There's not a lick of dust on anything thanks to the determined housekeeper, but the sofa in the drawing room sighs as you sit down, as if unused to any contact. 

There's also an absence of life.

"Where's the piano?" You look around the room in confusion.

"We don't have one, Mrs Kim." Someone admits reluctantly.

The news comes as a surprise. You've never been without a piano and always expected any furnished home to come with one.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Kim, but no.”

"Nevermind," you shelve the news and move onto the walls, scrutinising the paintings and decor before evaluating out any remaining rooms. Doyoung's study if something you gloss over, uninterested in speaking to him or disturbing his work.

"Well," once you're back to the drawing room, you turn to face your small group. "Is there anything Mr Kim is particularly attached to in this house?"

"No ma'am, nothing except his study." Mrs Lee replies. "We don't often see him come out of there."

You believe her words, you really do, but in that moment, curiosity gets the better of you, which is why you find yourself retracing your steps back down the hall and raising your hand to knock on the study door.

Entering before Doyoung gets the chance to respond, you're greeted with a rectangular room filled to the brim with books. Whether it was a dining room or living room before, any semblance is gone now except for a big desk and chair just in front of an arched window, where Doyoung is sitting and looking at you in confusion.

"Did you need something?" He asks patiently, a pen in his hand, paused in the air as if he was in the middle of writing.

"Yes, actually." You reply once you're done looking around. "I was wondering if you'd mind if I started to redecorate this place?" Then, out of the blue, "And will you be joining me for lunch today?"

The latter question is an afterthought but you see him pause and mull it over.

"No to both of those," he gives you one last glance before beginning to write again.

His lack of willingness irks you in a way you can’t describe and the amount to which it does is surprising. Equally, his dismissal is infuriating.

"Well, would you mind if I redecorated this room? And are you sure there's nothing you want to keep?"

He glances up at you again. "You can get rid of whatever you want, so long as it doesn't include this room. I'd like this place to stay as it is."

"Surely this place could do with a tidy," you frown. "Are these all your works? They can’t be."

"Of course not." He surprises you with a quick laugh as if you’d just told a joke. "I could write for my whole life and I still wouldn't be able to publish all of these. No, this is just my collection."

"But... you still write for money, right? It's your full-time job?" You shuffle closer. There’d always been the thought in the back of your mind that perhaps he had a different job, because making money off just writing was a rare occurrence indeed.

"Of course." He shrugs, abandoning his work entirely to face you.

"What have you written then?"

Clearly, Doyoung is taken aback.

"You really want to see?" He asks, almost in disbelief. When you nod, he reluctantly gets to his feet and heads over to the shelves with you trailing behind him.

The shelf he stops at is noticeably more barren, with less than a dozen books populating it. 

"Here," he gestures to them and you pick the closest one up. It's titled _Roses in Rome,_ which is intriguing enough to get you to browse through it.

You have no formal education in writing beyond what was taught to you as a girl, but you don't need any special skills to know Doyoung is a good writer. You tell him as such absent-mindedly, flipping over the pages to examine it further.

"It's mostly boring stuff about the flora in Rome," he says abashedly, scratching his neck. "They bore most people, so you don't need to be so kind."

"I'm serious!" You retort, shelving _Roses in Rome_ and picking up another. "Hey, this one looks good too. I see why you've made a living out of this."

"I feel like you're joking with me," he gives you a sideways glance.

"I'm not!" You protest, snapping the book shut and turn to face him. Strangely, you are more annoyed at his modesty than his previous ‘boring’ nature. "Tell you what, let's make a bet."

Doyoung's interested, you can tell by the way he blinks at you, but he hesitates.

"It's not very ladylike to make bets."

"Come on, don’t give me that! You don't even want to know what the bet is?"

"Fine." He relents. "If it makes you leave quicker, tell me."

You try not to let your smugness show at having the upper hand. "Well, if I read one of your books and wholeheartedly enjoy it, then you need to join me for lunch every day."

Doyoung pauses. For a moment, you think he's going to decline, but then, for the first time, his mouth tugs upwards in a reluctant smile.

It’s pretty.

"Deal," he nods, placing _Roses in Rome_ back into your hands. 

-

You are alone for your meal, but you rather prefer it that way.

The serving maids glance at each other in confusion, yet none approach the table. A spread is laid out there, filled with the finest cuisine London can offer, but instead of directing your attention to the food, your plate has been pushed to the side in favour of a book, which you are currently engrossed in.

"Uh, ma'am?" Someone finally pipes up.

"Hm?" You flip a page, not bothering to look up.

"Do you have any requests for dinner this evening?"

"Not really," you hum back, not even pretending to think about it, "anything quick is fine."

-

The next day, you swing open the door to Doyoung's study just before eleven. With eyes still strained from reading in candlelight, you triumphantly toss the book down onto his desk with a triumphant smile.

"How many prints of this book do you have on you?"

Doyoung looks at the book, then back at you. "Why?"

"Because I think you should give every staff member who can read a copy so they see how talented the man who employs them is."

"Absolutely not." Doyoung shoots back before he pauses and considers what your statement implies. When he catches on, he raises a brow. "You can't have finished it already."

"But I have!" You grin, wider so when he looks back at you in disbelief. "I read through my meals and through the night- which I'm not proud to admit, but it was very good! Which is the second book?"

"You finished it that quick?" Doyoung is still surprised but nevertheless gets up and follows you to the bookshelf, slender fingers reaching out and selecting another book. "Here you go. _Seville in Colour_. Please don't finish it so fast next time."

You promise not to and go to place _Roses in Rome_ back on the shelf. However, Doyoung wraps a hand around your wrist to stop you, his touch causing you to freeze and tilt your head at him.

He seems to realise what he's done and lets go with a jolt.

"You can keep that one, if you want." He turns away. "I've got plenty more."

"Really?" You smile, the awkwardness forgotten. "Thank you!"

Doyoung just waves a hand, gesturing for you to leave while he returns to his desk. A laugh almost bubbles up in your chest at his haste to get you to leave and so you can't resist calling out to him before you shut the door.

"See you at lunch."

You should have waited a bit longer after that. You would have seen his smile again.

-

True to his word, Doyoung joins you for lunch that day, determined to not meet your eye as he clears his throat and settles into his seat.

Getting a reaction out of him is soon to become your new favourite pastime, given how easy it is to ruffle his feathers. However, you're soon preoccupied with the food, this time having left your book in the room.

"I've been thinking about something." Doyoung announces just as you cut into your meat. It's hard to tell who he's talking to (even though the only other people there are the staff), but eventually, after he meets your gaze from the opposite end of the table, you realise he's talking to _you_.

"What about?"

"If you're planning on reading all my books, then you'll probably need a place to read."

The idea intrigues you. Perhaps he was finally taking an active roll in re-decorating the house? You can already picture it: the drawing room with a piano at one end and an armchair at the other, perfect for wasting afternoons away with a book.

Which is why you're surprised when Doyoung offers an alternative.

"If you promise not to spend the whole day reading, and to keep up with your duties, then you're free to read in my study, providing you don't disturb me."

"Of course!" The words are out of your mouth instantly, the offer being too good to deny, and you take a bite of greens to hide your embarrassment. Doyoung seems pleased, though, judging by the way he looks down at his plate. You're too far away to tell if it's a smile or not.

After that, a little routine develops. After breakfast, Doyoung departs to his study while you begin your duties, slowly but surely beginning to redesign the house. You both meet up and talk at lunch, then your afternoons are spent embroidering or gathering supplies from around London, something you only feel comfortable doing when there are a swarm of maids willing to help and conceal you from any familiar faces.

Once you finish that, it's time for dinner and then an evening spent in the study. Strangely enough, you've grown to enjoy the silence you and Doyoung share. It's comforting knowing all you have to do is glance up and you can see him working steadily on his book, knowing you’re not spending your evenings alone.

It also helps that you get lost in his fourth book and the vivid descriptions of winter in Berlin. It’s strange, because for someone so quiet and ordinary, his writing is so unlike him. The descriptions are so vivid and lifelike you can’t help but ask him if he’s actually _been_ to these places.

"Yes," he nods, "and Rome and Seville, too. I chose the countries in the books because they're all places I toured around when I was younger."

Unlike you, Doyoung is content to work himself to the very bone, which is good for when you want to take a break because you very often find yourself just watching him work. He doesn't notice, of course, too absorbed in his writing, leaving you to marvel at his figure, almost enveloped in the light from the setting sun that comes in through the windows. It warms his entire being, a stark contrast from the man you'd known before, catching his cheekbones one minute, then his soft black hair the next. But never his eyes, that were always so fixated on the paper.

Sometimes, you dare them just to look up and catch your own.

One particularly sunny weekend, you swap out your evening of reading to instead write to your parents, sitting up in the old armchair Mrs Lee had fished out and tapping your pen against your chin.

Your mother asks how you're doing, as does your father. A part of you wants to be honest and tell them it isn't as bad as you'd thought, but it irritates you to think of their smug, satisfied faces as they read it. Instead, you tell them that it could be better, that you don't see Mr Kim that often (which is true) but you look forward to redecorating (and getting a piano).

You've never interrupted Doyoung from his work during your session before, but as you look for a distraction from signing your name off at the end of the letter, you notice him sigh softly and stretch, a natural pause, and jump at the opportunity.

"What will I do once I've finished all your books?" You query, watching his catlike eyes open and hold your gaze.

"There are plenty of others to read," he admits, "or perhaps you could do some more embroidery or something. I don't really know how women pass the time." He frowns as he tries to think, an oddly endearing sight.

"Well, what about the book you're writing now?" You reposition yourself in the chair, nodding to his current project.

He looks down at it. "This? Well, it's about halfway done and is taking place outside of England again. It’s not very different from the previous ones I’ve written."

"You've been to so many places," you try hard not to let your jealousy bleed through. "Why choose to settle in London?"

"London has the most concentrated area of publishers," he admits. "Although I suppose I do have a country house."

"Well, perhaps a change of scenery would be good for inspiration for more books?" You prod.

He raises his eyebrows. "I take it you know the countryside well?"

"Of course." Smugness bleeds through your voice and you can't help it, too pleased now that you've finally found something you can talk about. "I spent most of my life there.”

When he doesn’t immediately respond, you continue. "The flowers in spring and summer are just amazing. Every year I would open my window and watch as the roses and honeysuckle fought to climb up into my room first- the roses were deliberate, by the gardener, but the honeysuckle was such a pest. They made the house smell amazing, though. Then it's cold in autumn but still pretty and in winter." You smile just thinking about it. "Winter in the country isn't like what it is here, when all the snow goes to mush. It stays forever and is so thick sometimes we're trapped indoors. It's like the whole world just stops."

Finally catching yourself, you glance back over to Doyoung to find him already looking, something like a smile on his face and his eyes, imbued with flecks of gold from the setting sun, watching you.

"What?" You ask unsurely. 

"Nothing." He looks down and then picks up his pen again. "Nothing at all."

-

A few days later, upon heading to bed, you come across a vase on your dresser.

The smell is unmistakable: a bouquet of roses and honeysuckle right in the middle of blooming are gathered in the vase, heads turned towards you. The warm summer air carries their scent around, so overpowering that it's the first thing you notice in the morning.

But it's not just your room. Every curtain has been drawn and the summer sun shines in through the open windows. Down each corridor, in each room, even at the long refectory table, there are vases filled with wild summer flowers in full bloom.

"Thank you."

Doyoung won't meet your eyes as you peer past the flowers and grin at him during breakfast, sporting the happiest smile you've ever shown him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He shoves some bread into his mouth and looks away pointedly, causing you to burst into giggles.

-

It's hard to find the time to read in the month ahead. You delegate the task of keeping the flowers fresh to Mrs Lee and her team, supervising the influx of new furniture and furnishings for the home.

When you aren't swept off your feet with your duties, you're either writing to your mother, who is begging you to host a social event to show that you're happy, or spending time with Doyoung, something you grow more excited to do with each passing day.

"Mrs Kim?" A footman calls for you just as you finish sealing your most recent letter. "Someone is here for you."

You pause, discarding the letter on the table and turning to him, wracking your brain to figure out if you were expecting someone today. "Who is it?"

"It's Mrs Jung, my lady."

For some stupid, naive moment, you think it's Yoonoh's mother, but when that train of thought doesn't add up you realise Yoonoh now has a wife. Sara Kobayashi.

"Oh," you blink, head swirling with confusion as to why she's at _your_ door. In an ideal world you would send her away and the idea of it is so enticing you almost give the command, but as the sinking feeling in your gut tells you, she can't be sent away. The message it would send is that you're still bitter and jealous and if that were the case, then this whole arranged marriage would have been for nothing.

You’ve grown to like Doyoung’s personality but right now, you wish he was more of a 'man of the house' type husband. That way, perhaps the footman would have gone to him instead and he could have sent her away

Regardless, you have no choice.

"Send her in."

The footman bows once and disappears, bringing Sara into the room a minute later. She looks different to when you'd last seen her during the promenade, clad in an elegant green and white summer dress. But despite all the splendour her new lifestyle has afforded her, not even the pale coral lipstick she wears can disguise the sadness that encompasses her expression.

"Thank you for seeing me." She lowers her head in greeting, meeting your eyes once she finishes. Like always, they seek you out and stare right into you, something that's always made you feel so vulnerable around her. Before, it was a blessing, but now you draw your gaze to the window, hearing her gather her dress and take a seat.

Your lack of response doesn't deter her, as she tries again. "How are you doing?"

It would almost be too easy to lash out at her for playing so innocent and indeed you want to, hands balling into fists on your lap. However, letting her get to you would be like conceding defeat, especially since you don't know what she's here for yet.

"I've been well, thank you. What about yourself?" The hard edge to your tone is surrounded by false politeness.

"I'm fine," she smiles happily at your response, a sight that makes your neutral expression dip into a frown, "just glad you are doing alright."

Her audacity to care about your wellbeing is the final, tiny match that strikes up a fire. Your anger seems to unfold, breaking at the seams and seeping out of your mouth to lash out at her.

I don't think my happiness is any of your concern!" You snap, relishing in satisfaction as her eyes widen and cheery disposition falls. 

"Y/N..." She searches for the words while you wait patiently, biding your time to snipe at her again. "I never intended for anything to happen, I-"

"You never _intended_?" You exclaim, giving a quick, humourless laugh. "So how did it happen? I thought we were friends?"

"We were, we are!" She insists. "I just wanted to know him better for your sake. Please, believe me, I never wanted to marry him but- and I'll admit this -we did grow fond of each other."

Your whole body recoils with disgust. "You were courting him while he was courting me?"

"It wasn't like that!" She wails desperately. "I couldn't help it. Being around him was just like how you described being in love."

"Sadly," you say sardonically, "you can't say that and expect me to understand after _you went for the man I was going to marry_."

"God, Y/N," she exhales, "it was never going to go anywhere. We both knew it and decided to meet one last time before calling it off. But that time, we were caught without a chaperone."

The revelation courses through you, displacing your anger and disbelief but replacing it with something far more dreadful.

You sink into the sofa, wishing the cushions would swallow you up. "You what?"

"We had no choice!" Sara looks as miserable as you feel, staring helplessly at the floor as if she's reliving the events. " _My_ reputation, _your_ reputation, it would have all been ruined. We both had no choice but to marry one another to protect us all."

As much as you try to deny it or argue against it, her confession makes sense. It's not just you who has been suffering this whole time. To be caught with a man without a chaperone is a fate worse than death. You become undesirable and unwanted, left to waste away into your old age, utterly alone.

And that- your greatest fear -would have been Sara's fate, if she hadn't married the man you love.

"Why didn't you say anything?" You mutter helplessly, an overwhelming sense of guilt building inside you.

She lets out a dry laugh. "Would you have believed me? I was an idiot. I thought about how much you loved him and knew there was no way you would accept it. I thought maybe you would do something to tarnish my reputation."

" _Sara_!" You recoil once again, mouth falling open in disbelief. "I was your _friend_ , how could I do something so cruel?"

"It's what I would've done!" She wails back. "I was so sure you'd be angry that I made Yoonoh keep it a secret."

"How was that your decision to make?" You fly from your seat in a rage so uncontrollable you're shaking. You must be shouting by now, in fact, you’re surprised no-one has come to check on you. "All this time I've been miserable! You hid _everything_ from me without so much as an explanation."

"Y/N-" Sara rises also but you hold up a hand.

"I think Mrs Jung is ready to leave now."

Her eyes grow wide and she opens her mouth to protest, but the footman who let her in is by her side in an instant, something you couldn't be more thankful for.

"The lady has spoken, Mrs Jung." His mouth is set in a grim line and there’s no room for arguing, so you watch Sara throw one last look at you before gathering her things and leaving.

There's no satisfaction in watching her go. You still feel sick and the minute you hear the front door close, you slump back into your seat and press a shaking hand to your lips in an effort to stop any more outbursts.

It's impossible to tell how long you're there for. All you know is that the world has gone dark outside and the candles have been lit, casting a shadow upon Doyoung's entering figure.

"You've missed dinner."

His tone isn't accusatory, rather, he says it like he's stating a fact. You watch him come further into the room, undecided if the unhappy furrow in his brow is real or just a trick of the light.

"Sorry."

"You don't need to be sorry," he replies casually, coming to sit opposite you in the same seat Sara had taken up. Unlike her, he leans back casually, a strange sight for someone who hardly ever uses this room. His hands rest on the top of the seat, and as he folds his legs you realise, from that position, just how tall Doyoung must be. You've never been close enough to properly tell. "It's just you didn't come to the study, either."

"Sorry," you reply again like a broken record. "Someone called for me."

"I heard," his tone softens, eyes rounding. "I'm sorry."

The amount of apologies going around causes you to laugh softly. "Why are _you_ sorry?"

"For allowing her to come into your home and make you upset." He shrugs as if it were obvious. "I'll make sure she isn't allowed on the premises from now on."

Something about the way Doyoung calls this place _your_ home causes a light, fluttery feeling to make its home inside your chest and despite the miserable day you’ve had, you smile.

"It's okay, I had no idea she was still in London anyway."

-

Your troubles follow you late into the evening. The kitchen maids offer to fetch you a late dinner but you decline, unwilling to keep them working for longer than they have to.

So they go to bed and soon the house is quiet, so silent and dark that any passerby would think the whole house was asleep.

But behind your curtains is a single candlelight, flickering and casting shadows onto the walls. Inside your room, you are curled up in a fetal position under the covers, gazing absently at the melting wax. Try as you may, sleep won't come to you because every time you close your eyes Sara appears, her pitiful face reigniting your turbulent emotions as if you were continuously ripping a bandage off of a tender wound.

There's a noise on the landing, a creak, but you pay no mind and roll over so you're staring at the ceiling. Would everything have been different if you'd never befriended Sara Kobayashi? Or would that have made it easier for her to steal Jung Yoonoh away that way as well? More importantly, would you have forgiven her if she hadn't hidden the reason for the marriage in the first place?

Your heart burns again. The pain is familiar, and you let out a sigh.

A knock sounds at your door, so light you almost don't hear it. There's barely time to sit up in your bed and grab the candle before the door slowly opens, revealing not a member of staff, but Doyoung, still dressed in his everyday clothes with his shirt slightly unbuttoned and hair unstyled.

It's his first time looking into your room and the realisation makes you feel strangely naked. The duvet covers your bedclothes, which are modest enough as it is, but his impassive expression, obscured by the darkness, has you fidgeting.

"Doyoung, it's late." Your voice is merely a whisper, softened to fit the ambience of the night. "Why are you up?"

He looks down abashedly, neutral expression disappearing into something much more familiar. "I've just finished up in the study, but I saw your light was on. Is everything alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine," you reply a little too quickly. It doesn't seem to convince Doyoung, but he begins to retreat anyway.

As he goes to leave your chest tightens. Confronted with the thought of being left alone with your thoughts for the rest of the night, you say something- anything, to get him to stay.

"I just can't sleep."

He pauses, still just a shadow in your doorway. "Oh?"

"It's silly, I know," you hasten to brush off your abrupt confession.

"No, I get it." He assures. "In fact," he steps into the room, opening the door wider. With better light, you can see the tiredness breaking through to his normally flawless face. His eyes are more catlike than usual, slightly droopy, probably due to so much writing. "I might have something that can help."

"What would that be?"

He doesn't answer, only beckoning for you to follow. Slipping out of bed, you pull on your slippers, grab a nightgown, and follow him across the hallway and down the stairs.

The house looks different in the dark. The paintings on the wall contort with the lack of light, their silhouettes eerily watching you walk past them.

"In here." You barely make out Doyoung's hand in the darkness, stretched out to help you on the last step of the stairs. You take it, all too aware of his smooth palms and long fingers settling on yours. But as soon as your feet reach the floor he slips out of reach, setting off again and leaving you with no choice but to follow.

Eventually, the two of you wind up in a place you've never been to before: the kitchen. It's normally reserved for the cooks and their helpers, the likes of which would be horrified to find the two of you down there at all, let alone at such an hour.

But Doyoung moves around the place with comfort, lighting the oil lamps and easing into the cupboards without so much as a sound, all while you stare at him from the door.

"What are you doing?" You hiss, watching him gather up bags of flour and sugar, setting them on the long, square table used to prepare your meals.

"Take a seat." He instructs, brushing off your questioning and continuing to grab ingredients.

It's hard not to admire him like this, especially when he stretches up, arms easily reaching places you could only get to with a chair. There’s no-one else around either, so when he glances at you with a small smile you can’t look away. At least in the study you both had the books to be engrossed in.

"What are you making?" You ask curiously as he finally settles into a seat opposite you. There's an assortment of items spread out on the table, a mix of ingredients and bowls and cutlery, all unfamiliar to you.

"Biscuits," he replies, a pleased smile on his face. At your confused stare, he elaborates:

"When I was young and my parents passed away, I was mostly in the care of a governess for a while. But she wasn't the same, so I found myself either being unable to fall asleep or being woken by my nightmares."

"I'm sorry," you watch him softly, seeing how his quietly happy expression falls. "That must have been awful."

"It's fine," he shrugs helplessly. "All in the past now. But anyway, I used to sneak down into the kitchen because I knew all the staff down there and they would take pity on me. The cook, who stayed up to prepare the food, did the same thing over and over again, which usually made me fall asleep."

A smile bursts onto your face at the thought of a young Doyoung, struggling to keep himself awake while watching a cook beat the dough and prep the vegetables. 

"If I still couldn't sleep, then she'd let me make biscuits, under the condition I went straight to sleep afterwards." He smiles fondly. "I usually did."

"So we're making them now?" You ask, grinning when he nods.

"I know it's trivial work, but I thought-"

"It's great!" You beam at him, unaware of how, in the dimmed light, his cheeks start to redden. "I love this idea!"

"Well," he rolls up his sleeves and lets a smile take over his face. "Let's get started."

And you do. Measuring out the ingredients is hard in the darkness but Doyoung is patient, helping you out and doing most of the harder tasks, like rolling out the dough.

"You're so good at this," you marvel, watching him shape the dough into little circle shapes with slits.

"I've had enough practice," he defends, but you can tell he's pleased with the compliment. "Still, I’m a probably a better cook than a socialite."

"Is that why you became a writer?" You joke, giggling when he frowns at you. "Sorry, sorry."

"I hate that you're slightly right." He shakes his head, motioning for more dough. You give the mixture a final stir and then hand him a dollop. "I didn't get much socialisation as a child because my parents weren't around."

"At least you can cook." You nod solemnly, as if that’s really a skill someone like him would need to have. He picks up on your sarcasm, nudging you with a stern look that makes you clap a hand over your mouth to stop your giggles.

"You’re talking as if I’m as good as a chef or something. As soon as my uncle found out I was sneaking out of my room he placed a lock on my door, which I'm glad for in a way, because he helped set me straight. It's a miracle I could even enter society at all."

He looks down, the smiling falling from his face at the memory. You frown.

"I think you're great."

He glances at you. "Really?"

"Yes!" You insist. "You read and write well, you've done well for yourself and you can cook. Not to mention the flowers."

"Those were nothing," he brushes it off easily, watching as you take some of the biscuit dough out and try to shape it yourself. "Here-"

When he sees you failing, he gets up and comes over, standing behind you and leaning over to help. As his hands settle over yours just as they had done on the staircase you find yourself frozen, breaths caught in your chest as he begins to help you mould the dough.

You can feel his chest an inch away from your back, hear his gentle breathing right in your ear, sense his gaze expertly concentrated on the dough. It’s as if all of a sudden he’s _there_ , and you can’t get him off your mind.

The dough finally resembles a biscuit shape but Doyoung hasn't pulled away. Instead, you feel his breathing again, slightly hitched, just as yours is, and you swear he's gotten just that tiny bit closer-

"My sir and madam!"

You jump, crashing into Doyoung’s chest just as he leaps away. Turning around in horror, you find Mrs Lee at the door, holding a lantern up to illuminate her scandalized face.

Your heart is pounding, practically thundering against your ribcage as if you’d just run around the street. How long had she been there?

"Are you cooking?" She frowns, coming closer, while you breathe a silent sigh of relief at the innocent question. "You must _ask_ if you need food, not do it yourself!"

"My apologies," Doyoung replies on behalf of you both. "It was all my idea."

She gives him a critical once over and you take that time to glance at him. His head is bent and arms together as if he were being scolded like a child.

"Not to worry,” Mrs Lee finally relents, although you can tell she still isn’t pleased. “Both of you go to bed now and let _me_ clean this up."

You don't need to be told twice, scurrying out the room just behind Doyoung without looking back. Once you reach the hallway, however, you glance at each other and his guilty-looking expression is enough to have you spluttering with laughter, trying and failing to conceal it.

"Don't laugh!" He hisses, mortified. "That's never happened to me before."

"She was so upset!" You giggle. "Oh, I hope she doesn’t hold a grudge. You need to let her know that was your idea!"

"Never again." He shakes his head. "It must’ve been your fault, taking too long with those awful-shaped biscuits."

"I'm sorry." You poke his arm in retaliation, walking with him to the stairs. "I didn't realise I was so meddling."

When he doesn’t reply, it gives you time to dwell on his confession of growing up alone. You’re not sure as to why it sticks out so much, but it leads to a number of questions forming in your head, one so burning and so important you can't help but ask. Perhaps it's because it's dark and quiet, with no-one else around, or perhaps it's because this evening, it feels like you and Doyoung have been closer than ever.

"Doyoung?" You reach the top of the stairs first, turning to look down at him. "Why did you marry me?"

You see him pause, the slight smile falling off his face as he registers the question. The fluttery feeling that you've been nursing in your chest suddenly gives a sharp twang and you turn away, embarrassed by your boldness.

"Forget it, it was a stupid question-"

"No," he interrupts, hand encircling your wrist to keep you in place. “It’s okay.”

You watch him warily.

"Part of it was because I needed a wife," he admits ruefully. "And I’m sorry that it had to be you, by the way.”

“What do you mean?“ You whisper.

He lets out a small, sad laugh. "I know you're not happy here. I don't see how you could be. But, you were just so pretty and nice. I think..." He pauses slightly, glancing at you and then away. "I think I needed you and thought you needed me. Because I know what it’s like to be alone."

With Doyoung's declaration, hand hot and burning around your wrist, it's as if you're seeing him for the first time again. Except now you can properly see him, with his melancholy face, so beautiful it hurts, waiting for your reply as if he's expecting you to be angry. The sight makes you loosen your hand from his grip and then take his hands in your own.

"I'm not unhappy here." You vow solemnly, squeezing his hand tight to show your conviction. "I am the very opposite."

It's a confession to both him and yourself.

This life that you lead now, it's not _bad_. Your letters to your mother don't contain paragraphs of your misery. Your days aren't spent alone. You don't feel isolated or forgotten, or alone.

You are _happy_ here.

"Good." Doyoung murmurs, eyes so tender and expressive you feel as if your chest could burst. All of a sudden the feeling is too much, too intense for such a late evening, all alone on the stairs, and you let him go.

Your admission might have been uncalled for, but you don't want to apologise. If anything, relief floods through you at the thought of his worries concerning you being eased, and the feeling in your chest retreats, satiated at last.

-

The next morning, something odd happens.

The refectory table is gone.

In its place there is a regular table, meaning you and Doyoung are seated within two metres of each other as breakfast is served. Amidst your confusion, you notice a smile playing at the edges of Doyoung's mouth, obscured every time he raises his fork.

Finally, you admit defeat and ask the obvious.

"Why do we have a smaller table?"

As if waiting for your questioning, Doyoung places down his fork and sends you a grin. Now that it’s so close up, it takes you aback, bringing warmth to your skin and causing you to avert your eyes.

"I thought it would be awkward to keep using it now that we're friends."

He's phrased it like a question, leaving you free to accept or decline the statement. You can't help but laugh, the mere thought of a husband and wife only just becoming friends all too much to take in so early in the morning.

"That makes sense." You accept it with a smile. 

_Friends_. You and Doyoung are friends now.

"Anyway," he continues, signalling to a member of staff, "I managed to get our biscuits baked from last night..."

Your jaw drops. "You didn't."

He just smiles again as a dish is placed in the middle of the table. Once the lid is lifted you see he’s is telling the truth. The batch is mixed, his perfect ones and your slightly mutated ones piled on top of one another.

"Try one." He urges.

"You first." You gripe back.

He rolls his eyes but acquiesces, leaning over and grabbing one. Once you're sure they're safe to eat you help yourself, deliberately skirting around yours to try the ones Doyoung made.

They're not too bad.

-

The sun leaks in through the many windows of your conservatory, warmth soaking into your skin as you oversee the servants moving in some new furniture.

It's not much, the first of many new items to arrive, but already you can see the room becoming even more spacious and lighter and it fills you with optimism for the future.

"A little to the right," you call out, watching the moving sofa teeter precariously towards the new paintings on the wall. "Now left- that's it, perfect."

"This looks good." Doyoung strolls through the door and you turn to greet him in surprise. It's not been an hour since you left him at breakfast and, ever since the new table had been implemented a week ago, your mealtimes had nearly doubled in time. You’d be surprised if he’d been able to get any work done today at all.

"Shouldn't you be in your study?"

"I've had a change of plans today," he replies confidently, "as have you. Clear your schedule."

Though intrigued, your hands sit on your hips as you raise an eyebrow. "And leave my duties?"

"I’m sure they’ll survive without you." He gestures to the staff. "How much fresh air do you get here? And- how many people have actually seen us outside together. I don't mind my reputation being non-existent, but we should at least be seen together for the benefit of _yours_."

You swallow. Has Doyoung really been thinking about you and your wellbeing?

It isn't like you haven't been thinking about him either. More frequently now (especially at night), you find yourself wondering what he’s doing or relaying your encounter on the stairs over and over again.

But surely it had been nothing? As Doyoung had said, you were friends.

And friends went out together.

"I'd like that," you finally admit. "What are you thinking and when are we going?"

"We are going right now," He turns and motions for you to follow, which you do. "And as for what we're doing, we are having a picnic."

"A picnic?" You echo. "Have you- We need-"

“Don't worry," he shushes you, placing his hands on your shoulders and spinning you around so you face towards the stairs. "I'll sort it out, you go and get ready."

So you do. For the first time in a long while, your maids swarm to help you get prepared.

There's a difference between getting ready for the day and getting ready to go out, one you hadn't quite realised until you feel the familiar rush of excitement at seeing your dress choices. Next to your dresser, a maid stands with a comb in hand, ready to transform your hair into something a little more sophisticated.

You don't know how long it takes you to get ready but thankfully, as you meet Doyoung at the front door, he doesn't utter a word of complaint. Instead, his eyes trail over you, starting at the top before ghosting over your necklace and then silk dress.

You've had his eyes on you before, but this time it feels different. You feel exposed but then again, he was probably just appraising you to make sure you were dressed appropriately to be seen with him.

"Shall we go?" He holds out his arm once he’s finished, cutting you away from your thoughts. You're glad for the intrusion and hold onto him with a smile.

"Please."

For the first time since you married Doyoung, the two of you grace London's streets together.

It welcomes you with open arms, albeit only for a second before you settle into your carriage. The streets pass you by as you set off, but rather than look out the window, you are drawn to Doyoung.

You've seen him in a carriage before but that was on your wedding day and you weren't paying much attention. Now, you watch as he taps a rhythm into his leg, resting his head in his hand as he peers out the window, seemingly absorbed in the outside world.

Is this how he gets inspiration for his books? By watching the outside world? Or maybe, as he'd mentioned before, this was just him catching up with the rest of London after having been secluded for so long. Either way, his slender figure tucked away opposite you is a new side of him you're delighted to see.

Doyoung is like a book. For every page you turn, another part of him is revealed.

-

After arriving at the park you are greeted by a small marquee already set up for you and the parlour maids standing by. The air is crisp and clean with a steady breeze but the sun still shines on. Judging from the number of people out for a stroll, you're not the only couple it has brought out.

"I forgot how beautiful London can be," you sigh out once the two of you are settled on a blanket, food delicately laid out as you gaze into the distance.

"It can't be better than where you grew up, surely?" Doyoung wrinkles his nose. "Anywhere is better than London."

"It's not that bad." You roll your eyes and pick up a strawberry, unaware of Doyoung's gaze on you as you bite into it. "You're here, after all."

"If I am the only thing making your stay in London positive, I am very concerned." He deadpans, making you laugh.

"I just meant it would be a whole lot worse if I was married to someone twice my age who kept me inside like a caged bird." You take a glass of champagne and whirl it around thoughtfully.

Doyoung's voice is quiet when he next speaks, too sombre for such a sunny day. "Is that what would have happened?"

You blink. "I hope my father would never have to resort to such a measure, but yes. Theoretically, it could have been."

You don't like the look on Doyoung's face. While he stares at the ground, you curse yourself for being so clumsy with your words.

"But that didn't happen! And I'm fine! So really," you laugh quickly, "we're just talking about hypotheticals."

"We are." Doyoung agrees, bad mood clearing. "I'm glad you’re fine, though. I was worried that the visit from your friend would shake you up."

"I'm okay." The mention of Sara Kobayashi's unwelcome visit sours the mood slightly but you’re determined not to let it show, plastering on another smile. "It was nothing."

Doyoung accepts your assurance with a nod, but a second later, as you reach for another strawberry, something hits you on the shoulder.

Whipping your head around, you don't spot anything out of the ordinary. Doyoung is looking around at the scenery and no-one is near your tent. But there is a bowl of grapes sitting nearby...

"Kim Doyoung," you begin, keeping any accusation out of your tone. "Did you just throw a grape at me?"

He stares at you, mouth open but eyes twinkling. "How could you think that of me? Of course not!"

His tone is too exaggerated and even _if_ you were going to believe him, his lips begin to twitch.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Seizing a strawberry, you launch it and make direct contact with his forehead. Peals of laughter leave you as he blinks in disbelief but they are soon banished as another round of grapes hails down on you.

"Your graces," a maid begins nervously, "we are in a public setting-"

If either of you are paying attention, you don't act like it. You counter-attack with some finger sandwiches but Doyoung dodges, swiping some cupcake frosting onto your cheek.

"You-" Your insult dies in your throat as Doyoung laughs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. You watch him with tender eyes, for the first time glimpsing the softness of his hair, the length of his soft, dark lashes splayed out on his cheek. His laugh is all you can hear, like some melody on repeat, and in the golden sun, you want to reach out and cup his cheek, just to see if his skin is as warm as he seems to be.

You don't realise you're staring until the ache in your chest fades, as well as another grape coming to almost hit you in the eye.

"I'm sorry," Doyoung reaches out, suddenly way too close. "I thought you were going to move! Is your eye okay?"

"I'm fine!" With a squeak, you shuffle back, becoming even more mortified when Doyoung seems to notice and his face falls slightly.

"Good." He coughs. "Um, we seem to be out of food..."

Again, you laugh, not just because of his realisation but also because of the look of confusion and dismay on his face.

With your resources depleted, the picnic ends early. But that doesn't stop you pleading with Doyoung for an extra stroll, one which he reluctantly agrees to after enough wearing down.

It's leagues better than the notorious first promenade you took together. In fact, you are so immersed in your conversation with Doyoung, not only are you unable to find the time to look anywhere else but you also don't notice the stares you are given from other couples who catch you together.

But all good things must come to an end and as the carriage pulls up at your house, Doyoung places a hand on your arm to stop you.

"About today," he begins, while your heart jumps up traitorously at his touch. "It wasn't just to get you outside."

"It wasn't?" You echo.

He frowns. "No, well, I mean- it _was_. But I also needed you to just not be in the house for a while."

"I don't understand." You frown. Upon seeing his growing smile, however, suspicion arises. "Doyoung, what have you done?"

"Just look in the drawing room." He grins.

You don't need to be told twice. As soon as the footman at the door lets you in, you race down the hallway, past the servants in a most undignified fashion and burst into the drawing room, sweeping your gaze around to try and find what he’s talking about.

It stops on a new object. With three legs and a sturdy, glossy brown body, 52 white keys and 36 black ones, it is something so familiar to you it's almost like being back home again. It's presence bleeds into the room, transporting you back into your childhood lessons with your piano teacher, and you take a shuddering breath.

Doyoung places a hand on your shoulder. It's a tentative gesture and if you were not so overcome by emotion, you would be able to sense his nervousness.

"Do you like it?" He whispers.

The piano stands quietly, waiting for use, so enchanting and beautiful and _missed,_ you can't comprehend who the yearning in your heart is for: your first love, or the man who brought it to you.

"I love it." You breathe back.

He removes his hand and touches the small of your back. "Then play me a song."

The keys bend to your fingers and it’s as if you haven’t missed a day of practice. While the song begins, reverberating around the house with such vigour even the servants stop to listen, you feel your heart swell and expand with every dip and rise of the melody.

Every note is perfect. Your piano sings out the gratitude which your mouth cannot convey. By the end of it, you are left breathing heavily with a welcome ache in your fingers.

Doyoung just stares. As you turn your head to look at him, the gaze in his eyes almost makes you curl up into a ball. There's something there, amongst the passion and awe. It's like fire just behind his eyes, growing and waning, so deliciously enticing you want to reach out your hand and touch it while it warms your body and ignites your very soul.

"What do you think?" You ask.

The look swells and grows, burning you both from the inside out.

"Beautiful." He replies. 

-

There is a change over the next few weeks, almost imperceptible but noted by almost all the staff.

It's like there's something in the air. Doyoung's smiles- usually few and far between -are now a common occurrence in the Kim household, while your gloomy demeanour seems to have disappeared. It's almost as if the two of you have transformed into a real married couple, just without the romance.

"We have mail." Doyoung sweeps into the dining room with an envelope in his hand. It's unusual for you to get any mail during breakfast so the little white rectangle piques your attention.

You watch him sit down, then grimace. "What is it?"

"It's an invitation," He holds it up and begins to read it aloud. "To a ball hosted by one Mr and Mrs Jung."

Your bowl of fruit sours in your stomach. Amid your new life, those two are like wine stains in a white tablecloth. You can't seem to get rid of them no matter how hard you try.

Sending you a glance, Doyoung carries on. "They're inviting us to a ball at their new countryside manor, to celebrate their marriage and new home. Nice."

You laugh at his sarcastic tone, watching as he tosses it onto the table. "Shall we go?"

"Is that even a question?" Doyoung raises his eyebrows. "Of course not. Unless _you_ want to go?"

"No, no!" You blurt out quickly. Although, the more you think it over, the more the idea grows on you. Not only would it be a chance to see Doyoung all dressed up, but it would also prove to both Sara and Yoonoh, as well as all their guests that you weren't someone to pity. The latter was a move that would surely quell your mother’s letters.

It was petty really, how you still thought about such things, but the allure of a ball is too enticing to resist, so reminiscent of your time during the social season.

"We could always just show our faces," you shrug nonchalantly, staring down at your plate. "To not go would be strange, don't you think?"

"You want to go." Doyoung says it more of a statement, watching you as you meet his gaze. Seeing your expression, he hastily corrects himself. "Not that that's a bad thing! We can go. Um-" he grabs the letter again and scans it thoroughly. "It's in three days time, which means I need to go make arrangements and you should probably get down to the modiste for a last-minute dress fitting. But we can make it, if you want."

"Of course!" You beam at him from across the table. "Thank you!"

With your plans changed, you continue your day with renewed vigour, stepping outside to head to the modiste's shop just before lunch. 

An advantage of living in the heart of London is that everything you could ever need is close by. That includes one of London's most in-demand dressmakers, who luckily has a free slot between two of her appointments for you to take up.

"I'm so sorry for bursting in on you like this." You apologise as she takes her measurements.

"Nonsense!" The older lady waves your concern away with a flap of her hand. "Frankly, I'm delighted to have you as a customer again. Now tell me- is this for the Jung ball?"

You swallow. "Yes."

Thankfully, the modiste doesn't comment. "Alright, I know the theme for that. Do we have a colour in mind?"

Pausing, you glance at the couple of maids who have accompanied you. In your haste to get down into the city, you hadn't had time to think it over.

"Ladies," you bend down and capture their attention. "Does Doyoung have a favourite colour?"

"Mr Kim?" The taller one blinks. "I- I think it's blue, ma'am."

The modiste overhears. "Blue? An excellent colour. Let me just..."

She disappears into the back, leaving you waiting for only a moment before she pops back out with a dress in hand. Passing it over to you, she holds the skirt out as you examine it in the mirror.

"What about this one?" She asks.

Your reflection looks down at her with a blossoming smile on its face.

"Absolutely." You say.

-

The journey to the new Jung residence takes you well into the night despite setting off in the early afternoon. The journey is thankfully broken up by a short stay at a nearby inn, booked by Doyoung for the night with two separate rooms and dinner included.

One thing you haven't missed about ballroom events is the time it takes you to get ready. Squeezing into your corset is the worst of your worries and is further made difficult by the fewer number of maids you’ve taken with you to get ready.

But it's all worth it in the end, when you descend down the stairs to meet Doyoung in the lobby. You’re convinced he couldn't look more stunning even if he'd tried, clad in a dark suit and polished shoes.

"You..." His dark gaze trails up your dress before meeting your eyes. "Look stunning."

It might just be the roaring fireplace that sets your skin alight, or the sight of Doyoung bending down to take your gloved hand and press his lips to the back of it. All you can feel his touch and a sudden urge to take off your gloves and feel his skin on yours. It’s a desire you quell at the earliest opportunity.

"You look very handsome as well."

"Blue is my favourite colour," his eyes still haven't left your dress as he seems to ignore your words. "Did you know that?"

"I had no idea!" You laugh lightly, lying through your teeth. "Shall we go? We should go, or we'll be late."

"Whatever you say," Doyoung drags his gaze to meet yours, offering his arm with a smile you've never seen before. It's too confident to be from the man you know, yet so natural sitting on his face.

Despite the coolness of the night the carriage it is far from cold. If anything, the air is heavy and humid and if it wasn't for your delicate hairstyle, you would open the window to get some air in.

Sneaking a glance at Doyoung, you find him distracted, gazing at the floor while his bottom lip is taken in ever so slightly by his teeth.

"Everything alright?" You ask gently. "Are you nervous?"

"Huh?" He blinks before giving you a relaxed smile. "Ah, no I'm fine. I was just thinking."

"I noticed." You laugh. "What about?"

"Just," he gestures to you, "about when I presented myself during the social season. I don't anymore, but when I did..." He trails off.

"Remembering all the pretty girls?" You prod. He gives a short laugh.

"No, more like-" his eyes meet yours for a brief second before dropping to the jewels adorning your neck. "Thinking about what would have happened if you'd debuted back then. If we were closer in age than just a few years."

He was thinking of _you_?

"Well," there was no other response than to brush it off. There couldn't be. "I assure you, I wasn't that noticeable."

A makes a lilted humming sound before leaning over slowly, taking you by surprise as he ever-so-gently raises your chin.

You quiver at the boldness of his move yet make no effort to escape his hold. Even now, Doyoung remains gentle touch gentle and eyes kind.

"That might be the biggest lie you ever told." He remarks casually.

Then he lets you go, as easily as he'd got ahold of you.

"What do you mean, ‘the biggest lie I've ever told’?" You straighten out your skirts with a cough, trying to brush over what had just happened. Doyoung seems unbothered, glancing out the window again. This time, the lights of Jung Manor can be seen in the distance.

"I feel like you're lying about being ready to come to this ball. Which is why-" He cuts you off before you can protest. "If you need to leave at any point just let me know. We'll call it a night."

"Doyoung," you whisper, his warmth catching you off-guard. "Thank you."

"It's nothing," he dismisses it modestly with a smile. "In fact, it goes both ways. If I can't handle it, you’d better get me out of there."

The mood is broken by your laugh. "I'm sure there'll be no need for that."

He shrugs, laughing along. "You never know."

The conversation dies down as the estate comes closer. Pulling up at the front gate, you see countless of other carriages parked, with couples stepping out into the night clad in the finest clothes money can buy. It sparks excitement in your belly and an itching to open the door and join them.

Your turn can’t come soon enough. With the door open, you and Doyoung make your debut as Mr and Mrs Kim.

Heads turn as you enter and the murmurs begin, soon drowned out by the ballroom music being performed. The theme seems to be a champagne colour, with white and gold drenching the ballroom from head to toe. It's as beautiful as it is nostalgic and for a minute, you forget about your hosts and focus on Doyoung’s hand in yours.

He gives it a squeeze. "They've outdone themselves."

“How much have to had to sacrifice to admit that?” You giggle at his reluctant tone.

"Mr and Mrs Kim!" Francesa Downton strides over and effectively cuts off his response.

"Francesca!" You cry, moving towards her to exchange pleasantries. "I didn't know you'd be here!"

"Well I couldn't miss it, could I?" She grins, eyes flicking to Doyoung. "How are you doing?"

"Good." You beam. "I'm really good."

“And I take it this is Mr Kim?“

Doyoung comes to the front, smiling politely.

Yes, I’m Kim Doyoung. I don’t think we’ve met before.”

"Francesca Downton," she curtsies with a knowing grin. "Nice to _finally_ meet you."

Before you can ask her to explain, the music changes to a brisk, fast-paced waltz, catching Francesca’s attention

"Tell me, Mr Kim..." She turns to him with a glint in her eye. "Do you dance?"

You adjust your grip on his hand. Surely she wasn’t going to ask _your_ husband to dance?

"I do," he replies, raising his chin slightly.

Francesca's smile grows wider. "Brilliant!" She claps her hands and then begins to usher to towards the dancers. "Then I suppose I’ll see you both on the dance floor."

Sending you one last smile, she's whisked away by a shout of her name, leaving the two of you surrounded by couples taking up their positions.

You turn to Doyoung expectantly.

"Do you really want to dance?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Yes!" Tugging on his sleeve, you pull him closer to the dance floor. "Ask me!"

"Fine." He shakes his head with a laugh. "Mrs Kim, will you do me the honour?"

He holds out his hand and you take it immediately.

"Don't step on my feet, Mr Kim."

With a roll of his eyes, Doyoung takes up his position. As the music begins to play, any worries about his rusty dancing skills are washed from your mind as he starts out strong amid all the other couples who move in time with the beat, parading around the room like a sea of ships in perfect formation.

Doyoung holds you as if you were a doll, his touch feather-light on your hip. Conversely, his hand, intertwined with yours, anchors you by his side, never letting go, not even for a twirl.

Though the dance requires two people to participate, it feels like Doyoung is watching you move. As if you're putting on a private show for him, the rest of the party-goers sinking away and leaving only the two of you afloat.

You step away and he draws you back in. His eyes follow the curve of your neck as you dip down, before coming back up and stopping just before your chests touch. There's nowhere to look but his eyes, setting fire to every body part they skim over. At one point they flicker down to your lips and his grip on your waist tightens imperceptibly, but just enough to be noticed.

Then the song fades, drawing you back into the party where people are applauding the performance. With one last bow to each other, the spell is broken but not quite gone as you two of you stare at each other, neither one daring to make a move.

Until Doyoung's gaze snaps to someone behind you.

A throat is cleared, then someone taps your shoulder.

Jung Yoonoh before you as you turn, clad in a velvety red suit. Unlike Doyoung, who's clothes blend him into the background, Yoonoh stands out, heads turning to see what he's up to as he gazes out at you.

"Y/N," he tilts his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he admires you.

He hasn’t changed in the slightest. It’s as if you could turn back time, right to the beginning when the two of you would partner up and allow the whole room to see you together. The only difference now is that you both have someone waiting on the sidelines.

"Yoonoh," you blink. "What are you doing here? Where's Sara?"

"She's with some guests," he looks around briefly before coming back to you. "I was wondering if you'd do me the honour of one dance?"

If he sees Doyoung behind you he doesn't act like it. The offer hangs in the air, tempting as sin and so easy to take, but you find yourself hesitating. Turning, you catch Doyoung’s gaze already on you. You raise your eyebrows, asking a silent question.

Slowly, he nods, hands clenching at his sides as he strides away, making room for your new partner.

Yoonoh's hands settle on you like a knife in a ridge, perfectly fitted. The song is a merrier one this time, though you can't quite match the atmosphere. Something inside you is building up, similar to how you had felt when Sara had visited, but this time it leaves you tongue-tied.

"I'm glad to see you're doing well." Yoonoh grins as he twirls you. "That you're okay."

"Thank you," comes your polite reply. "I take it you're happy as well. The party is lovely."

He gives a wistful smile. As the two of you close the distance and look outwards you search the ocean of onlookers for Doyoung. He's in the corner, watching silently with an unreadable expression while the others clap along.

"I just," the two of you move again. "I need you to know." Yoonoh continues. "I did intend to marry you."

"You did?"

"Yes," he wets his lips nervously. "And I did truly like you, Y/N. You were... You were supposed to be the one. You were supposed to be my wife."

He twirls you around again and it’s only when you're facing each other again that you realise he's looking down at you expectantly, waiting for you to say something back.

But there's nothing to say. Would it have been different a few months ago? When you were still pining after the man you now held in your arms?

What has changed? You often thought your heart beat solely for Jung Yoonoh and when he had slipped out of your grasp it was all but confirmed.

But now there's nothing. Just, you, him, and the music.

A single dance.

"Thank you for saying that." You curtsey politely as your second song comes to a close. "I wish you all the best."

There's room in your final words for Yoonoh to fight. When you turn away, there's time for him to grab onto you.

But he doesn't. The chapter of your life titled with his name is now closed forever. You've loved, you've mourned, and finally, you've moved on.

Having escaped from the spotlight, you head to where you last spotted Doyoung. Thankfully he's still there, much to your relief, leaning on the wall and lost in thought, as usual.

"I'm back," you declare happily. "Sorry about that, I was just-"

The look on his face catches you off-guard.

"Are you okay?" You venture cautiously. Then it clicks- the crowd, him in the corner, perhaps he needed some fresh air? "Shall we go home?"

Doyoung nods and your concern increases tenfold. Linking arms, you walk with him to the exit. You would have liked to announce your departure to the hosts, but there simply wasn’t any time.

Francesca watches you go. You raise your hand in farewell, but all she gives is a short nod in return.

-

The carriage ride back to the inn is cold. It's late into the night at this point and stupidly, you haven't brought a shawl or coat.

"At least we left early, instead of when all the other carriages would have been leaving." You think aloud.

Doyoung doesn't reply, diminishing your cheery mood.

No one has ever been _angry_ at you before. Your mother and father, in your youth, had been annoyed, irritated and disappointed at times, but not like this.

Not when there's palpable tension lingering in the air, and not the good kind. All too soon Doyoung's suit warps him into someone unapproachable, the dark fabric blending with the stoic look on his face and transforming him from someone you know to someone unrecognisable.

You can't let it go on. Doyoung's silence pokes at you like a thorn and soon, the discomfort is unbearable.

"Have I done something?" You announce when you get back to the inn. "Are you annoyed at me?"

"No." Doyoung replies, his back to you as he pauses just before he can enter his room. "I'm annoyed at myself."

"Whatever for?" You frown, stepping closer. "Is it because we left early?"

"I just-" he hesitates, shaking his head. "I should have known."

"Known what?"

"That you're still in love with Jung Yoonoh."

He says it like a cold, hard fact, taking your silence as a confession when you don't reply. As he turns, you can see the annoyance flickering on his face, directed at _you_.

"I should've known when you accepted that invitation." He laughs dispassionately. "You even let that woman into the house. You wanted to go-"

"You’re misunderstanding this." You protest cautiously, unsure of his words.

He ignores your interruption. "And then you dance with him. How was I so blind to see it?"

"I thought you were fine with that dance? You nodded- Why are you being like this?" There's a small waver in your voice, a sliver of panic slipping through. "Doyoung, I don't know where you've got this from, but the dance, it meant nothing."

He stares at you and you at him, locked in a sudden, silent stalemate. For a moment you imagine him shaking his head, smiling at the misunderstanding and coming forward to apologise. You would accept it and put the night behind you, never looking back.

But you can't hide from realist. The beautiful illusion is shattered as you catch the look in his eyes, so expressive and full of disappointment.

"Stop _lying_." He whispers sharply.

"I'm not lying!" You shriek out of frustration, shattering the silence. Behind Doyoung, the shadows simmer and warp as you pace around heatedly. "Why would I lie? What does it matter? You're making a big deal out of nothing!"

" _You_ ," He looms, "do not get to tell me how to react."

As quick as he'd snapped, he reigns himself in, raking a hand through his hair while his shoulders sag in defeat. "Not anymore."

"What do you mean?" You retaliate, angry but curious enough to continue the debate.

He glances at you. "I should've told you sooner."

"Told me what?"

"I'm going somewhere. Leaving. To France."

"Leaving?" You repeat. The word sounds foreign on your tongue. "To France? Why?"

"I need inspiration for my book." He states coldly, as if the sudden respite in arguing has given him time to collect himself. "An old friend wrote to me a few days ago and offered his villa to me. I'm leaving England."

You let it sink in until it feels like your very bones have turned to ice. 

"You're leaving." The truth is bitter on your tongue.

"My book is important," he defends, bringing his hands up. "With or without you, it needs to-"

"You're just going to go?" You yell again, wishing you had a copy of his stupid, unfinished book with you now just so you could launch it at his head. As quickly as that thought comes it's diminished, replaced by a suffocating, crushing feeling inside you as if you are suffocating, hands clenching and unclenching while you deal with the news.

"If you don't want to be around me, I'll go to your countryhouse until you're gone." You spit out. His face is too much now, a mixture of stony resolve and tender pity. "I don't want to see you anymore either!"

It's a lie if you've ever told one. Doyoung, however, doesn't call you out on it.

For all your fire and fury, he just stands there watching. While your chest heaves and any remaining words turn to ash on your tongue, he watches you extinguish yourself until you're all burnt out.

"I'm glad we're on the same page." His voice is quiet, too quiet for all the shouting you've done. It makes you feel small, like a child. "We'll go back tomorrow and I'll leave next week." 

With that, he turns and exits your room, shutting the door without so much as a backwards glance.

He's gone.

You want to scream, but it's like there's nothing left in your lungs now you know what your future will entail. There will be no more eating together, no more reading. His books will be gone. His presence will be gone. Doyoung will be gone.

The feeling in your chest twists, clutching at your heart until it punctures it, and you crumple in a heap in your bedroom, bleeding out until there's nothing left.

-

The two of you travel back home in silence the next morning, a preview of what is to come over the following days.

As expected, your life reverts to how it was before you entered the study all that time ago. Seeing Doyoung is a rarity and he takes all his meals in the study, leaving you to dine alone. If the servants notice anything is wont, they don't speak up about it.

It gets repetitive. Waking up, overseeing the chores, embroidering, writing to your mother and pretending everything is wonderful. Telling her of the argument would only lead to being scolded and more disappointment, something you're keen to avoid. The pitiful looks from your maids are more than enough.

The only thing to keep you going is the piano. Thankfully, Doyoung hasn't barred you from using it and in a slightly grateful gesture, you've taken to only playing in the evenings, usually going on until late in the night when you know he won’t be working. It may keep the household awake but it's the only time you truly feel safe, as if the darkness can wrap you up and allow you a place to deposit all your blistering, festering emotions.

The pain is tenfold increase compared to any other suffering you've experienced. It's as if there's a huge, gaping hole in your chest, where the blood gushes out and pours onto the piano, mixing into the keys and sounding out in mourning for everyone to hear.

Sometimes, you think someone is watching you. Often you'll turn to glance at the door and find a shadow breaking the line of light under the door. But whenever you go to investigate, no-one is there.

Which means you are left with the ghosts and nothing else. Out of spite, you've ditched any books Doyoung had recommended, asking Mrs Lee to slip them back into the study at her convenience. You could tell she hadn't been pleased with the task, but she'd accepted nonetheless.

As time goes on, the distance between you and Doyoung has become more noticeable. The hallways (and a few rooms) have become full of trunks and suitcases. Day by day they pile up like growing saplings and as they rise, so does your resentment surrounding the whole situation.

With fingers splayed out over the piano keys and the final note ringing out into the evening, you heave out a sigh and shut the lid. Tomorrow, Doyoung leaves, so you'd rather spend the whole day holed up inside your room than have to say goodbye to him face-to-face.

But when you step out into the hallway there he is, sifting through some of the luggage as if he’d lost something. For a moment the two of you stare at each other like frozen deer, but then the spell is broken and he looks away, back down to the boxes.

"Am I really so repulsive to look at now?" You ask, irritated.

"I have a lot to do, Y/N." He replies with a sigh.

The lack of attention is like a sharp sting. "I can't believe you're actually going to abandon me." You snap back.

“Not now, Y/N, please.”

“You’re no better than any other match my father would have set me up with.“ You aim to push his buttons in any way you can, just to get a rise. “At this point, it’s just the same as if I’d been wed to someone twice my age.“

"You can go to the countryside, or wherever you want!" He whirls to face you with an annoyed expression.

"Of course. Because a married woman can travel unaccompanied. How silly of me to forget." You drone with a sneer.

"You can." He insists. "You could live out there and do what you want all day. I’d give my permission."

"Well, that's not what I want!" You feel like stamping your foot as if you were a child again. "I don't want to be alone with only the staff as company. I just don't understand."

"If you don't understand, you shouldn't talk about it." Doyoung's words are final but you find yourself tiptoeing over the line, coming closer.

"Just explain, then! How can I understand if we don't talk?"

"You'll never understand," he snaps back, facing you and abandoning whatever it is he was searching for, "How utterly crushing it is to have to be in the same house with you when I know you're pining for someone else, for someone you can never have."

"That's not-" You protest, but he holds up a hand to stop you.

"I've tried to make you happy, even though I know I don't do a very good job. I thought if we could just be civil with each other, then we would get on." He lets out a laugh. "And I'll admit, I grew fond of you even when I had cautioned myself against it. Just seeing you and Jung Yoonoh on that dancefloor..."

He gazes at you sadly, trailing off as if the two of you are dancing even now, along the corridor. "I knew the two of you were so well-suited I could never compare.."

Then the longing in his eyes disappears as he meets your eyes again from where you stand frozen by the door, as if he’s fallen and picked himself up all over again.

"Do you know what it's like?" He asks, stepping closer. "To know you can never compare? To be so utterly charmed by someone who is charmed by another. To have to listen to you playing that piano for him every night." He stops just a metre away. "It hurts."

His last words and punctuated softly while you're left to soak up the impact. After all this time, Doyoung had liked you? Grown to love you, even?

It pains you to think of him so upset and finally, you see how just poor of a decision it was to dance with Yoonoh that night, what sort of impression that must have given off. The revelation fills you with determination, first to let Doyoung know the truth, then to get him to stay.

So you tell it like it is.

"But I didn't play the piano for Yoonoh."

He frowns. "What?"

"I didn't. If you'd have listened after the party-" you step closer "-you would know I'm not fond of Yoonoh anymore. All traces of that are gone now."

Doyoung opens his mouth, but you beat him to it.

"He was everything I'd dreamed of, that's true." Past memories of your days at the social events with Yoonoh by your side pass by in your mind. "But it doesn't mean nothing else will compare. You got me books, got me flowers, and while it's true I didn't like this arrangement at first, you made me happy. Even without all the gifts, you’ve truly made me the happiest I've ever been. I should have apologised for my misdemeanour at the party, probably, but I didn’t, And after our argument I knew if you wouldn't listen to me, then you'd have to listen to the piano."

You finish with a small laugh. "It's loud enough, after all."

Doyoung kisses you.

It happens all at once, as if throughout your moment of truth, he'd been inching closer, although you know he'd been rooted in place, hanging off of your every word in a way only he did.

Everything is so full of him. You've never done this before, but it’s his passion that guides you, hands coming to greet each other's bodies as if they were old friends, arms encircling his neck, lips melding into one as you explore the man you hold so dear to you on a whole different level.

Doyoung is like a book, each page a new chapter. His hair is soft to the touch, each strand complex enough to get lost in. His body is strong and firm as you grasp it in your hands, anchoring yourself down, but whereas his figure is steady, his lips move against yours in a satisfying juxtaposition.

It's so easy to stay tangled up in each other and so hard to let go. When you eventually do, it seems like everything is right again. If you'd known kissing him created a feeling like this, you would've done it a long time ago.

"I think," Doyoung traces the line of your lips, gaze heady and hair tousled. "We've been a bit foolish."

"You’re," you reply softly. "I've been wronged. You're such a fool sometimes."

"Will you ever forgive me?" His eyes meet yours again, still full of some type of heat that has your chest combusting.

"Not if you go to France," you negotiate.

"So if I stay?"

You're almost nose to nose now, him looking down and you blinking up.

"We'd need to apologise to each other properly." You can feel your resolve dissolving. At this distance, both of your faces are open books. A gaze has meaning and any smile is an invitation. Your words are almost meaningless.

Which is why you get the sense Doyoung isn't really listening. He gives a noncommittal hum and you feel his fingers ghost over your neck, settling on your shoulder, thumb on your pulse and finger cushioning on your neck.

"And," you whisper out, just before your time is up. "We need to leave London. I kind of hate it here sometimes."

"Sure." He mouthes the words against your lips before you finally surrender, only hoping that he was at least half-listening.

You kiss again and it's amazing how the same thing can be so different only the second time around. He gently backs you into the wall where your eyes close involuntarily because of the light from the lamp. With one sense gone, it leaves you helpless to the fire Doyoung's fingers ignite on your skin. Even when you try to take a shaky breath, he's there stealing them all away.

"Is this alright?" He pauses for a moment, still pressed against you.

"Yes," you breathe out, clutching his shirt and pulling his mouth closer. “God, yes, but can we go somewhere private?"

You don't fancy the idea of a maid finding you in such a compromising position, nor the horror of accidentally falling over some luggage, so Doyoung takes you up into his room. 

Separating from him, even if for less than a minute, is like torture, but just as he opens his door you are back in his arms. There's no time to examine his bedroom for the first time, because the two of you only just make it to his bed.

It feels soft, sturdy, just like your own and just satisfying enough to let this new, foreign place melt away from your mind. 

Another page in the enigma of Kim Doyoung can always be turned, but right now, you're content with just having him by your side, lips on your own, wasting away the night.

-

Morning never seems to come.

The light won't even slip through the curtains.

In a way, you're thankful. Doyoung's fingers are carding through your hair while your back is pressed to his stomach. It feels like such an intimate moment, one not meant to see the light of day, that you're glad to be surrounded by the darkness. In a way, it gives you the confidence you would never have in the daylight.

Perhaps you never want this moment to end or maybe you're just still worried that Doyoung will break his word and leave you. Either way, sleep won't come and in the end you're forced to break the tranquillity.

"Are you still going to leave?"

Doyoung's touch doesn't halt. "I don't think so," you hear him mumble, voice rough with sleep. "But if we keep it in the boxes, it'll make a move to the countryhouse a lot easier."

"Are you serious?" Despite the lack of light you shuffle around to face him, just about making out the silhouette of his face. “You were actually listening?”

"Yes," he smiles. "A change of scenery would be good. I still need to go to France sometime this year, but if you'd do me the honour of coming with me, then we could turn it into a honeymoon."

It's as if it's your birthday with all the joy that runs through you. Doyoung says the words so nonchalantly that you truly can't believe this sudden happiness can be so easy to achieve.

"Why would you do all that, even after our fight?" You mumble. "You need to write the book, remember? What if we’re out there and get... distracted?"

"Well," he watches you, a hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair away from your temple. "You’re a good distraction. And it's also because you're mine now, and I love you."

You swallow shallowly. "When?"

"When did I start?" He thinks for a moment while you're still motionless, letting the easy, casual confession sink in. "I was probably curious ever since you made that bet about eating together, but I knew after our escapade down in the kitchens, I think."

"Really?" You smile. "That long ago?"

"It wasn't that long ago!" He complains, poking your forehead. "What about you?"

"Well... There wasn't a defining moment, honestly." You admit, reminiscing quickly over all your interactions with Doyoung. Your first meeting, your time as acquaintances, as friends, the argument- everything.

"One moment you were a stranger, then you were just _Doyoung_." You confess.

He's silent for a moment, before kissing you softly.

"How beautiful," he smiles. "It’s as if you were a writer."

-

**epilogue**

-

The flowers are in full bloom.

There's yellow, red, pink, blue, orange, a spectrum of colour dominating wherever you look. The smell is enchanting, as if you've stepped out of reality and into a fairytale book you'd read as a child.

"Wow!" A laugh bubbles up as you look around. "They're gorgeous. It's just... _Doyoung_! Come look!"

An arm wraps around your shoulder, followed by a quick kiss to your temple.

"I'm here!" He laughs at your excitement, smiling wide. "Wow, they're really something."

You'd proven him right. The gardens out in the countryside are incomparable. For acres and acres, as far as the eye can see, it's just green forests and pasture, the wildflowers in the distance spread out like tiny stars.

"Hey," Doyoung gives you a small squeeze. "Can you think of anything more stunning than these flowers?"

It pains you to admit it, but there is something.

"The piano?"

"No." 

"Our new shared room? Oh! The nursery!"

" _No_." He frowns. "Come on, this is easy."

"What's more beautiful than the room our unborn child will be staying in?" You retort, rubbing your bloated stomach and staring at him accusingly.

He lets out a defeated sigh. "You, my darling." He surrenders. "It was you."

"Oh..." You could laugh at your stupidity. "I'm sorry!"

As he retreats into the house, you waddle behind to try and catch up.

"That was adorable, Doyoung! _Come on_ , don't be like that! Hey, why don't you show me the study? They've finished moving your stuff in, right?"

Judging from the way Doyoung stops to wait for you, he likes that idea. So much so, in fact, that his hand slips into yours, guiding you along the halls of your new home until you reach his new place of work.

The country house, much to your delight, is governed by nature, and inside the study is no different.

Sunlight streams in as if the place was a greenhouse, broken up by the ivy that clings to the walls outside. The shelves are a lot tidier, you're pleased to see, and you catch sight of a few potted plants bathing merrily in the afternoon rays.

The centrepiece is Doyoung's desk, of course, but nearby there's an armchair and next to it, a vase of rose and honeysuckle. The fond memory makes you smile and squeeze his hand just that bit tighter.

"This is amazing." You tell him honestly.

"I know," he rests his head on yours. "Not more so than you, I'm afraid. Or unborn baby number one."

"No, it's okay, I'll give you this." You assure him, smiling at the sound of his laugh. "That was quick thinking, though."

He makes a noise of agreement, stroking the back of your palm with his thumb and pressing a feather-light kiss into your hair.

"I've been told I do rather a lot of that." He replies, and all you can do is laugh into the sunlight.

-

**fin.**


End file.
